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“Ultimately you are rude and you don’t care about me. You talked demeaning about my mother. I cannot handle that. You have been around her twice in your life and I ask you to not be on your phone as much and you react with hate and malice. I see your parents, sister, and grandma many times and enjoy their company– interacting with them, making an effort. You can’t do the same for me for barely 24 hours. Thank you for teaching me a lot. I know you will go on to do great things in your life. Unfortunately it will not be with me. When the realization hits that it’s not all about you I think you will understand what you have lost and why you have lost it. We can still go to Alaska as friends. I will look for a place to stay as soon as possible.

I know you’re not going to respond to this and that’s fine. I am not going to change my mind. I cannot handle your excuses for the way you treat me anymore. Some things are inexcusable and in my mind this is one. I can’t be with someone who treats me like this. It’s humiliating and is driving me crazy.”

I didn’t actually break up with him. I wrote this on my phone while I was in “our” bed. I never sent it. 9 days later, on July 25th, I found the sex file of him and his fiancee, filmed in “our” bed. If I had left on July 16th I would have never found it. I just realized that when I was writing this post. Always trust your gut. ALWAYS. You will never be punished for trusting your gut.

I’ve been writing about MF lately. That’s because I’ve decided this is the week of purging memories. Feelings. Cleaning out the closet, if you will. Bare with me. There is so much happiness in my life. I am feeling grateful for where I am, but I want to remember where I came from. Everything that happened last year is the reason why I am here today. Writing before you. Loving before you. I feel like I have super powers. The power to heal myself. The power to overcome. The power to understand. The power to forgive. The power to be happy. The power to know I’m human and I am (ultimately) powerless.

Yours a Wondering Woman,

25swf

*This is the second post in a series of three memories from my relationship with MF I seek to purge.

(This post is part of an awesome series of awesome 25swf guest bloggers- read about them here!)

How long am I supposed to hold onto this anger? I’m mad at ___, and I know that’s healthy, but… yesterday I had a realization. I may be angry at him, and rightfully so, but he’s more than likely just living his life, without me even on his radar. Well, except for the sporadic, passive-aggressive text messages he’ll send right when I’m not thinking about him.

How long will I let the anger be a crutch? It has really helped me lately, because my feelings toward him have lessened dramatically in the past few months. But, being angry at him also just means that I’m still thinking about him. Be it positive or negative, he’s still on my mind.

Time, time, they say. Time. I know. And it’s true, time will (and already has) made things better. But in the interim, it’s idiotic to not try and find a way to cope.

Last night, on my way home from work, I saw a falling star and wished for the first thing that came to my mind – peace and forgiveness. It’s the first time I’ve made a wish, a true wish, that didn’t involve ___ changing dramatically and wanting to get back together.

I realize now that there’s a choice to make – thus the title of this post.

I could tell him either of those things, at this point. Or neither.

Mostly I just want to move on. To be done with him. To be done with thinking about him.

My loathing of a silly car may seemingly come from nowhere, but I assure you there is a reason.

MF drives this car. And while I am currently uber happy and moving on with Mr. M in my life… I can’t help it, I STILL feel this way when I see his car.

I have always thought the car of the box-kind variety was ugly. Just trashy and unthoughtful. When I found out that MF drove one, I literally said, “Oh. One of those box cars?”

We used MF’s car to do a lot of things. As in most relationships, there were a lot of memories made in that car. When we went on trips he would often make me drive longer than him and it would hurt my butt. It looks about as comfortable as it is. Sitting on a box for 9 hours is not ideal. We endured the Hail Storm of 2010 in that car; where he blamed me for not checking the weather and therefore being the reason why we got caught in the weather.

It was also in that car where he first told me to “just be happy” and to let it go when I asked him why he purposefully slammed a door in my face. I asked him to apologize to me, and he responded that he doesn’t take requests. There were good memories made in that car too, of course, but who the fuck cares when you are (overall) dating a Mind Fuck. Even the nice stuff is part of the mind fucking, so it’s really not so nice after all.

Ever since the MF break-up back in September, when I see the orange Honda Element, I cringe. How many people really have this ugly car? A LOT, actually. Or at least, because I notice it I notice it. The thing is orange and ugly, so you really can’t miss it. And every time I do see it I immediately think, “Is it MF?” There’s even one that sits outside my bedroom window all day and all night. I’ve seen it move once in the past 4 months. I think it’s taunting me.

Doesn't it look like it's taunting me? Fucker.

But this car hatred (which obviously really is just a physical reminder of a painful time in my life) came to a head the other day when I ran an errand on my lunch at work. I saw the orange box of shit at a place MF would more than likely be. I was instantly anxious. But I pushed it out of my mind. After running the errand I parked my car and was walking across a street fairly close to the previously mentioned orange box siting. I stood their waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street and get back to work. That’s when I saw it.

I was for sure it was him. He was three cars away from the light where I was standing. I caught myself holding my breath. It was the longest light ever. He was about to be right next to me. I should have worn something nice today. My face is all broken out. I’m alone. I wish I was walking with someone, laughing and having fun.

The orange crept into my view. I peaked. I looked across the street in a Rico Suave move to see if it actually was him. As I glanced across the street, there it was…the car was right in front of me.

Exhale.

Inside, a busted looking old leathery white haired man stared back at me.

HA! I literally laughed out loud. I crossed the street and as I walked back to work I felt a sense of relief. I had just scared myself out of being scared. And then I wrote this story down while in traffic, surrounded by cars (don’t worry, I wasn’t moving), and I laughed some more. And writing it now, again, and having you lovely readers read it, makes me feel even better about this piece of shit car. How glorious it is to talk about things and then be able to conquer them.

Yours conquering one ugly piece of shit orange Honda Element at a time,

(This post is part of an awesome series of awesome 25swf guest bloggers- read about them here!)

With the release of “No Strings Attached” two weeks ago, I began contemplating all the friends I’ve had sex with in my life. I realized that most all these incidences started just around when I became a 27swf. There was the colleague that I hooked up with on my couch, the friend I went home with after a karaoke party, the buddy who I spent a hot weekend with by the beach, the lifelong friend that I made out with…and felt like I was kissing myself. They were mostly uninspiring trysts, leaving me with great stories, some orgasms and ultimately, the intense desire to bolt when the sun came up.

It also led me to a singular conclusion: there is reason why we’re friends and not more.

However, I’ve found myself in a new conundrum dating D aka Doggy Style (read all about him here). After an impromptu run-in in November, we started becoming friends after years as just acquaintances. There were long distance jogs on the beach, evenings of long phone conversations, writing exchanges, book swaps, movie swaps. Then, one night, a little vodka led things to the bedroom. They that stayed that way for about two weeks, at which point I left town for a month for work and vacation. We spent nearly a month apart, communicating via text, phone and email, becoming closer and closer.

When I came back from my trip, we continued to stay close, our communication becoming more frequent and comfortable. But as time passed, he seemed less interested in sex yet more interested in me. Baffling. In all my other relationships, the sex became more frequent as we got to know each other, but with D, it seemed the closer we grew, the more he shied away.

Then, we had the “conversation.” The talk that every self-respecting woman has, then regrets soon after. Because, let’s be honest, ladies. No man out there EVER wants to have “the conversation.” Even if he’s crazy about you. Even if he’s madly in love with you. He doesn’t want to be pressured into saying how he feels. And so, I got exactly what I was expecting: the “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I can be a boyfriend. I’m damaged by my last relationship. You’re becoming my best friend, can we just keep things how they’ve been?”

Last week, I suffered major tragedy in my family. I left town, once again, and once again, D was there for comfort. He made me laugh on the phone, calling to see how I was doing. He sent me emails to cheer me up. He appeared faithfully at the airport, carried my suitcase upstairs, and sat with me for two hours while I regaled him with tales of the funeral, the characters, etc. Then, he left, a hug and a goodbye.

Again, the next day. Texting, phone calls, emails. We decided to watch Gossip Girl that night (with his puppy, of course). I headed over, convinced that maybe, perhaps, I could distract myself from my week of pain by getting naked — escape my emotions by swallowing myself in sex. But instead, nothing happened. We watched TV on his couch and he promptly walked me to my car after the show was over. Overwhelmed by the week’s events, I burst into tears. I told him I couldn’t be alone, that I didn’t understand his gestures which, to me, were so romantic and kind, but his actions seemed to suggest he found me repulsive. Why couldn’t he touch me and hold me? He said he didn’t feel like being romantic right now in his life, that he was still mourning his last relationship, that sex made him feel guilty because his last girlfriend accused him of using her for sex. Above all, he said that it takes him time to feel comfortable with someone…and he’s not there yet. He doesn’t know how he feels, only that he really enjoys our time together. That our chemistry is strong but he doesn’t feel compelled to romance me just yet. I asked if I could stay the night, that I was too depressed to be alone and he said yes. We slept side by side; his arm grazed my body throughout the night, pulling the blanket over me when he felt it fall. I couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep when he held me. When I left in the morning, I told him I needed time to think. And I’m still thinking.

My girlfriends think he’s damaged, that maybe it’s too much work after getting over my 25swf romance. I’m a 27swf now — don’t I have new expectations? New goals? Do I really want the same guy all over again…the one who is fearful, confused, damaged, introspective? The one who needs and wants me but can’t bring himself to be 100% present? My father, on the other hand, says he’s a nice guy who just needs some time (don’t worry, observant readers, dad gets the G-rated version of this story)

Yesterday we didn’t speak and I missed him. I missed our great conversations, our jokes, our comfort with each other.

I remembered the days in college and after, when all I wanted was a guy to be kind, to pick me up from the airport, to be my friend, and not just want me for sex. To want to see me in sunlight and not the inebriated haze of midnight. And now…? I feel like the tables have turned. That I’m the one wanting sex, craving someone touching my body…and feeling okay with leaving in the morning. D says that maybe, I’m the “guy” in our relationship…that I have to wait for him to “ready” for the sexual relationship that I want and feel comfortable having.

I’m left wondering if maybe now, I’m the one using sex as a way of not really getting too close….or if I’m just making excuses.

I feel like as of lately a lot of my posts…oh-hell, all of them, are dramatic. Not dramatized…that shit is too real, but just DRAMATIC. And well, I’m exhausted.

I am not a drama queen. And usually, my life is pretty simple, by all accounts of the word. But you wouldn’t have thought that from these recent posts about meeting exes, vagina hearts, and the curious clicking I’ve been blabbering about.

So, I wanted to share something different with you…

These are the things on my mind lately, but I just whittled down to 5 of them, for attention span sake.

1- Hershey’s lip balm blows (but not in the good way). Don’t buy it.

BOOOOOOO! =

2- I LOVE when people cook for me. It’s so special to me. Like in a touch-my-heart kind of way. I wish I knew how to cook more and I could make other people feel that way.

3- I am going to volunteer for something very soon. This is what has been missing from my life! I really do love to volunteer and I haven’t done it in like a year. While I volunteer on like EVERY film project (that’s what I do-do) in the world, I need some good ‘ole fashioned volunteer warmth. My friend is going to start working at the Ronald McDonald’s House and I think that’s where I will go!

YAY!!!! =

4- I’m looking for a second job, part-time, to start saving money for New York. I’m really excited about this! I may work at the Y, or the Civic Center…I don’t know, I just want to enjoy what I’m doing and burrow it away for my New York nest.

5- I am seriously considering becoming a Buddhist. I have never cared to be a part of a religion, but lately…that has changed. I have this deep urge to be a part of Buddhism and learn more. I think it’s time for me to do some leg work, go to some temples, and find out if it’s for me. My boss is a Buddhist so I asked him and apparently it’s not weird for white peeps to come to temple. I know that’s strange, but that’s what I worried about…if I would be offending someone because I wasn’t raised as a Buddhist and I might be viewed as appropriating their culture. I took this Honors College course once that really left a dent. I’m always conscientious (afraid) of being that white person who appropriates culture. But I think if I am respectful and genuine, I don’t care. I think Buddha is calling to me. (But not in the creepy Jesus kind of “he’s-talking-to-me” way). And I think I’m going to answer.